


No Charge

by BastetCG



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - 1940s, Cars, Chicago (City), Communication, Fashion & Couture, Language Barrier, M/M, Miscommunication, Post-War, Post-World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-08-03 19:17:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16331903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BastetCG/pseuds/BastetCG
Summary: The first time Yuuri met Viktor, Yuuri ended up stranded in downtown Chicago.The third time he met Viktor, Viktor asks in heavily accented, broken English, "Lunch with me?  Tuesday?"AKA Viktor, a chauffeur who can't speak English falls in love with fashion mogul Katsuki Yuuri in 1947 ChicagoAKA the most specific AU I've ever written





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the song [No Charge](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SNSqrLgK4DI) by Caro Emerald

The first time Yuuri met Viktor, it was definitely an accident.

He’d rang the front desk to have them pull his Packard around front. “I don’t care if Phichit isn’t in yet, I’m late!” he’d said, probably a little too harshly.

He was supposed to be meeting Celestino at nine to discuss the next shipment of muslin for dress mock-ups. He glanced at the wall clock above his dining table. It was ten minutes fast, so…it was 8:24, and if it took forty-five minutes to get to their usual café next to the Merchandise Mart, he might just make it. He raced down the steps to the reception area, nodding at the clerk, then hatted himself as he stepped out into the chaos of the streets. His Packard was waiting for him, all black and shiny against the graying tar of the road, chauffeur standing with the back door open. He hoped to Lord in heaven that whomever they’d sent to drive could floor it the way Phichit could. The door snapped shut behind him.

“Merchandise Mart Plaza, please.” The driver said nothing but pulled away from the curb with no problem. Yuuri, awkward and anxious as he was did not attempt to make small talk, nor did he study the chauffeur.

Well. Maybe he studied the chauffeur a little bit. Young, silvery hair, blue eyes. Definitely white. Yuuri didn’t know how to feel about that. The chauffeur probably didn’t know how to feel about it either. He forced his gaze away and out the window. He didn’t notice how fast the buildings were passing by until the car stopped, right in front of the plaza. Yuuri flicked his wrist to check the time. 8:56. He shook his head in disbelief but stepped out of the car. Rapping on the chauffeur's window, he pulled out his tip.

"I’ll need you back here in four hours.” He held the money out to the chauffeur, but for whatever reason, Mr. Chauffeur had different plans. He held up a gloved hand in a stop gesture.

“No charge.” He had an accent, but not one Yuuri could place. So, he was a _foreign_ white person. That explained it.

So, taken by the man’s good looks and unexpected words, Yuuri just stood there dumbly, holding his money as the chauffeur pulled back into traffic and drove away. He stood there for a few more moments, pondering the whole strange morning before he remembered. “Celestino!” he shouted to himself. He stuffed the money back into his wallet and his wallet back into his trouser pocket, then fought his way to the café.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to update this once a week, since it's pretty much all written already oops sorry!! Please note the chapter count went up because i didn't realize 5+1 is actually 6, not 5; and also there'll be an extra bonus chapter so...seven. Seven chapters. The whole fic will be a little under 10k. uwu

The second time he met Viktor it wasn’t exactly an accident, more like a coincidence.  It happened approximately six hours after their first meeting.  Because Yuuri’s car did not turn up at the appointed place at the appointed time.  So Yuuri had to take the bus.  He didn’t mind taking the bus, per say, but there were always a lot of people on buses, and he didn’t want them to look at him.  His anger overrode his anxiety, so he took the bus just to spite that stupidly handsome chauffer.

He walked back into his apartment building’s foyer, slightly damp from the drizzle outside, and ready to lay into the receptionist for giving him such an unreliable driver.  But then a bright smile and blue eyes made him forget himself again.

Because there in the foyer was the chauffer, standing tall next to a very loud and very angry Mr. Feltsman, who happened to be yelling at the receptionist already.  The Chauffer smiled even wider when Yuuri caught his eye.  He put a hand on Yakov’s shoulder and spoke some quiet words.

Yakov stopped his tirade for approximately two seconds to look over at Yuuri.  “Katsuki?!  You mean to tell me you were missing because you were bewitched by a pretty face?  Again, Vitya?  Why do I even bother—”

The chauffer, or Vitya, spoke again, this time loud enough for Yuuri to hear him.  He seemed mildly frustrated, but Yuuri had no idea what he was saying or even in what language he was speaking.  Wait, Mr. Feltsman was replying.  Russian.  Okay.  The pretty driver was Russian.  The driver was Russian, he corrected himself.

“And you, Katsuki!” Mr. Feltsman returned his attention to Yuuri.  “Who do you think you are, commandeering someone’s car like that?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Don’t act like you’re innocent!  You just hop into anyone’s car and hope for the best?”

“Mr. Feltsman, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You got into my Packard this morning and made off to who knows where with this idiot!” Mr. Feltsman jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Vitya, who was smiling rather vacantly.

“Your Packard?  I got into _my_ Packard.  A black Super Eight.”

For a moment Mr. Feltsman’s mouth hung open, much like the door on a mail box.  Then he shook his head, turned to Vitya and began his tirade anew.  Vitya just laughed, then placed his driver’s cap on Mr. Feltsman’s balding head.  Yuuri and the receptionist looked on in shock as Vitya made a few more comments, all with a smile, then kissed Yakov on the cheek and walked straight out the front doors.

“I’ll kill him!  I’ll really kill him this time!!”

“With all due respect,” the receptionist said quietly, “pleased don’t do it on apartment property.”

“I must formally apologize, Mr. Katsuki.  My chauffer’s a bit of an airhead.  Easily distracted.  We have the same make and model car.  I don’t blame you for getting into mine on accident.  But I do blame Viktor for not sorting things out.”

“Well in that case, I’m glad he didn’t come to pick me up like I asked hm.”

Yakov brayed a short, unattractive laugh.  “He probably would have if he’d understood what you said.  Doesn’t speak more than ten words of English, all of which are street names.”  Mr. Feltsman shook a cigarette out of its case and lit it.  “If either of you,” he pointed a fat finger between Yuuri and the receptionist, “see him slacking off or being a general nuisance let me know.  He likes to pretend he doesn’t have a job.  And, Katsuki, don’t let him drive you anywhere, my car or yours.  No doubt he’ll try and get in your good graces for all sorts of unsavory reasons.”

And as far as Yuuri was concerned, that was that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments/subscriptions are always welcome Uwu


	3. Chapter 3

The third time Yuuri met Viktor was intentional.  Sort of.

Mr. Feltsman had taken interest in Yuuri for whatever reason.  Maybe it was their similar taste in cars, or maybe Viktor had somehow goaded Mr. Feltsman into it for some reason.  Mr. Feltsman had invited Yuuri out for lunch with himself and his on-again-off-again wife, Lilia Baronovskaya.  Apparently, Lilia wanted a custom-made dress for some upcoming fundraiser.  Yuuri wasn’t interested in the details.

Viktor practically jumped out of the car to meet Yuuri on the sidewalk.  He took Yuuri’s hand in both of his.

“Yuuri!  I am Viktor.  Nice meeting you!”

“Uh, Hello.  Nice to meet you too?”

“Again,” he chirped.  Yuuri didn’t really understand what that was in reference to, so he laughed awkwardly.

“Vitya!  Stop harassing him and get back in the car,” Mr. Feltsman snapped, as he helped Lilia down the front steps.

Viktor didn’t let go of Yuuri’s hand, but he said something to frustrate Mr. Feltsman further, then laughed when Mr. Feltsman slipped back into Russian to chastise him again.

“I thought you said he didn’t speak English?”

“He’s learning.  He’ll be conversational by year’s end no doubt.”

“Y-Year’s end?  It’s October.”

“He may be an idiot,” Lilia said re-wrapping her mink around her shoulders, “but he’s linguistically gifted.  Fluent in three languages, conversational in about a dozen more.”

“Join lunch?” Viktor asked Yuuri, hopeful look in his eye.

“Y-Yes, I’m joining Mr. Feltsman and Mrs. Baronovskaya for lunch.”  Viktor’s smile grew larger.

“Vitya!  Back in the car!”

Viktor stepped back and slowly released Yuuri’s hand.

“He’s, uh, very forward, isn’t he?  Is that normal in Russia?”

“No, he just thinks he’s in love,” Yakov sighed.  Viktor opened the door for them to get in, the rounded the front of the car to get to the driver’s seat.

“Oh?  With whom?”

Mr. Feltsman furrowed his brow.  “With you, Mr. Katsuki.”

“Says you’ve ‘captured his heart with your kind eyes and gentle smiles’ and other such drivel,” Lilia drawled.

Yuuri blinked, then laughed at the joke.  “Oh, that’s…very sweet of him.”

Mrs. Baronovskaya raised a perfectly shaped brow.  Yuuri ducked his head.  Of course, he knew it was a joke.  Even if it wasn’t, it would be too embarrassing to think about for long.  Viktor, low social status and inability to speak English aside, was way out of Yuuri’s league.  Yuuri was plain and hid behind his glasses more often than not.  He reveled in his anonymity, He loved the confusion on people’s faces when they learned that fashion mogul Yuuri Katsuki was just another unassuming dark-haired man in a suit.  But Viktor made him wish he _was_ handsome.  It was a strange feeling for someone who’d made a home in his plainness.

Yakov barked something in Russian at Viktor, who chirped back in kind, then laughed.

Thinking about it, Viktor was somewhat birdlike, Yuuri thought.  Viktor’s nose was beaky, not unattractive, obviously.  Yuuri jumped out of his observations when Viktor caught his eye in the rearview and winked.

Blushing to his ears, Yuuri ducked his head again.  The rest of the trip was quiet beside some bickering between Mr. Feltsman and Mrs. Baronovskaya.  Yuuri looked out the window, watching façade after façade pass by.

The trip home was even less eventful, all three of them tired out from planning Mrs. Baronovskaya’s dress.  Apparently Yakov had just as many ideas and criteria as Mrs. Baronovskaya, often in contradiction to her suggestions.  They’d finally settled for a more modern, close-fitted dress in a wine red sateen.

“But not too close fitted,” Mr. Feltsman reminded him.

“Of course.”  Yuuri stepped out of the car as Viktor opened the door.  Out of habit, he reached into his wallet and pulled out some change.

“No charge,” Viktor said with a smile.

“Katsuki, don’t tip him!  I already pay him too much; his ego will expand to fill the street!”

“Ah, sorry,” Yuuri bowed, hastily shoving his wallet back into his coat.  His hand didn’t end up back at his side, as Viktor caught it in both his own.

“Lunch with me?  Tuesday?”

“Vitya!” Yakov shouted, looking redder than Yuuri felt.  He launched into another tirade in Russian, that Viktor easily ignored in favor of rubbing a gloved thumb over Yuuri’s knuckles.  Yuuri might have short circuited for a moment before he remembered it was all a joke.

“This is all very funny, Viktor, but I’m uh, the joke has played its course.”  He kicked himself, When Viktor looked at him blankly.  Right, barely spoke English.  “Uh, Sorry!” Yuuri said slowly, “Joke over.  Very busy.  Good bye.”  He pulled his hand out of Viktor’s and gave an awkward wave.  He heard Yakov laying into Viktor again as he raced up the steps the apartment foyer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and subscriptions are always welcome! Thank you for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter makes an indirect mention of the holocaust and Japanese internment. Considering this fic takes place two years after the end of WWII, I don't think it's out of place, but if that makes you uncomfortable, just skim or skip this chapter.

The fourth time Yuuri met Viktor, Viktor wasn’t even there.  Yuuri counts it as a meeting, because there was no way Viktor could have introduced himself as wholly and easily as Yakov did late in November.  They had dinner together, discussing a jewel and fabric collection of necklaces, and Yakov had insisted they end the night with a drink.  Yuuri ran a hand through his messy hair and sipped his whiskey in silence.  He liked Yakov.  They were both quiet people.  Well, Yakov was quiet until something angered him.  Which was a lot of things, now that Yuuri thought about it.  Besides the point.  Yakov was a little drunk.  He was talking about Viktor.

“I just don’t know what to do with him.  He’s a smart boy.  Really.  I say he’s not, but he’s a genius, really.”

Yuuri hummed quietly, a gentle encouragement.

“His father died in Stalingrad.  A shame.  He was a good man.  And even better investor.  Ha!”

Yuuri took another sip of his whiskey, trying not to look at Yakov’s uncanny smile.

“Most of the money went to treat his mother’s consumption.  Then she caught typhus pretty early. Dead in thirty-nine.  He was an only child, so.  Followed his father to the military.”

“He doesn’t strike me as a fighter,” Yuuri mused.  Yakov grunted.

“He’s not.  They had him in intelligence as soon as they could.  Shipped him off to Italy to work on the Enigma code.”

Yuuri almost choked on his drink.  “He was a spy?”  Somehow, that didn’t seem to mix with Viktor’s carefree attitude.

“Nothing so dramatic.  Although he’d love that.”  Yakov shook his head, downing the rest of his drink.  “No, he was just there to decipher and record.  He complained endlessly about how boring his work was.  I don’t think he even helped them crack it, either.  He got sent to Germany near the end.  They needed someone who could speak Polish when they were liberating the camps.”

“Oh my God,” Yuuri blinked.  “He saw the camps?”

Yakov nodded.  “His mother was Jewish.  He never joined up, too red for all that, but I think the camps changed him.”

“I can imagine.”  Yuuri thought about geography and money being the only things that kept him out of his own camps but said nothing.

“There are days he can’t get out bed.  Doesn’t eat.”  He leaned over, elbow on his knee, massaging his forehead.  “He’s been off ever since the end of the war.  I can’t describe it.  It’s like…like he’s watered himself down.  But there are sparks sometimes.  When I can see his old self.  He’s…he’s doing his best.  I just wish I could do more for him.”

“You’re already doing quite a bit for him, aren’t you?”

With a sigh, Yakov said, “You don’t understand.  His father helped get my business of the ground.  Mikhail’s sister practically raised me.  They hid me during—I owe that family more than I can ever pay back.  And Vitya is a good man, but he can’t go back to the Union.  Too much time in con…contact with fascists.  The Italians loved him.  The Germans too.  He’d be taken the moment he stepped a foot in Europe.  And he doesn’t have enough stable con…con…connections there anymore to keep him safe.  You understand?”

“Uh,” Yuuri scratched his cheek.  He hadn’t expected Yakov to be such an emotional drunk.

“There is nowhere else for him to go!” Yakov’s voice cracked.  “The idiot can talk his way out of anything in any country in Europe, but there’s nothing for him there!”

“I don’t follow.”

“You wouldn’t,” Yakov grunted.  “He’ll…he’ll do better once he can speak.”

“That will help,” Yuuri tried to comfort.  Yakov just groaned.  “Y-You said he was red?”

“Don’t worry, he’s too dumb to really understand politics.”

“I thought he was a genius.”

“The problem with genius is that it’s rarely evenly distributed across disciplines,” Yakov deadpanned.  “I won’t let the Americans take him either.  He likes the kind ideals communism offers.  He’s too soft.  Spent too much time in the slums as a boy.”

“Why would he do that?”

Yakov rolled his eyes.  “Who’s to say?  He’s always done as he pleased.  Probably chasing after some pretty face.  He’s always chasing pretty people.  That’s why he’s latched on to you.”

Yuuri laughed.  He could feel the alcohol finally kicking in, his cheeks turning pink.

“He won’t shut up about you.  I almost hate you, you know.  Just because he never talks about anything else.”

Yuuri laughed harder.  “Ah, very funny, Yakov.”

“It’s not!  It’s annoying as hell!  He goes through each language he knows, waxing poetic about you.  Too sugary, too—” he trailed off in Russian, waving his empty glass.  “He asks every day if we’ll be taking you some…somewhere with us.  Calls you zolotse, trésor, motek…ugh.”

“I don’t know what those mean.  He’s quite dedicated to this little play of his.”

Yakov gave Yuuri a dead stare.  “I need another drink,” he slid off the couch and went to the little table of crystal carafes.  He mixed a few liquors into something brown and downed the thing in about two seconds.  Then he poured himself two fingers of whiskey.  “Yurik.  Yuuri.  I think.”  He paused to burp.  “I think, if this started out as a joke, it has long progressed past that.  It’s been a month.  He’s trying to translate the latest article about you from the Post.”

“Uh—”

“He’s a good man, Yurik.  You could do worse.”

“He could do a lot better,” Yuuri mumbled into his glass.

“You’re selling yourself short again?”

“Hmm.  Yakov, you just got done telling me that he’s practically a war hero.  All I do is make clothes.  Women’s cocktail dresses at that.  The only way I could get more frivolous is if I started designing lingerie or men’s hats.”  He didn’t voice how difficult it would be for people to reconcile their appearances if they somehow miraculously went out somewhere.  A little unassuming Japanese man with the most stunning white man this side of the Atlantic?  People would think Yuuri was paying Viktor.  For just a moment, Yuuri wondered if Viktor would be interested in an arrangement like that but shook his head as soon as the thought passed.  Neither of them was that desperate.

“Or jewelry, perhaps?” Yakov interrupted.

“Hmm?  Yakov, you should know firsthand how un-trivial diamonds and gold are.”

“But the sentiment is the same.  You should give yourself some more credit.  Katsuki wasn’t exactly a household name when you acquired the company, now was it.”

Yuuri tossed the rest of his drink back to avoid answering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come visit me on my writing twitter [here](https://twitter.com/bastetwrites?lang=en)  
> Or my tumblr [here](https://bastetcg.tumblr.com)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday, Yuuri!

Yuuri wasn’t actually sure what the fifth time he met Viktor was.  After his conversation with Yakov, he’d decided that it would be best for him to avoid Viktor.  Distance would make Viktor forget all about Yuuri.  Some other “pretty face” would capture his attention, and he would move on.  And that would be for the best.

They had fleeting interactions.  A glance in the lobby, where Viktor would greet him with a grin and an exuberant “Yuuri! Good morning!”  An aborted conversation in the apartment garage about lunch.  Viktor dropping off the hat Yuuri had left at Yakov’s apartment after another late-night jewelry brainstorm.  Yuuri made sure those conversations were quick and without opportunity for Viktor to pursue anything deeper.

Because Viktor kept trying.  And his increasing vocabulary made it harder and harder for Yuuri to slip between the gaps in understanding.

Officially, he deemed the night of the Christmas Party as their fifth meeting.  He cringed each time he recalled it, since it was just him fleeing a larger anxiety for a smaller, more familiar one.

The party was just too big.  There were too many people.  It had been a bad day to begin with.  The party wasn’t helping.

The Drake’s ballroom should have been spacious.  It was just a large rectangular room with white-clothed tables arranged along the edges, with enough space for dancing in the middle and conversation along the outside.  He was trying desperately to avoid conversation but there wasn’t much else to do, and he cursed high society etiquette that forced him into this mess.  It wasn’t a mess.  _He_ was a mess.  _God_ , he was a mess.  Glass of pinot grigio in hand, he forced himself to be approachable.  He smiled and ducked his head in every conversation.  He deflected and accepted praise in equal measure and made sure to give it in appropriate amounts.  He calculated every word and performed as best as he could.  His wine had waves from the tremble in his hand.

“Mr. Katsuki,” the woman to his left said, trialing a perfectly manicured paw down his arm, “I’ve been dying to meet you for so long now.  Your dresses are quite something.”

“Eh,” he said back.  He wanted to pull away from her touch.  He didn’t like being touched.  “Thank you.”

“I have a New Year’s Party and nothing to wear in a few days, you know.”

“Our winter collection just came out.  And there’s always the discounts on the fall collection.”

“Oh, that’s true!  I had forgotten about the fall collection.”

Yuuri didn’t know why that set him off.  “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, still smiling.  She had forgotten.  She had forgotten about the fall collection that Yuuri had worked so hard on.  His work meant nothing.  She barely even gave him a second look when he excused himself.  She wouldn’t remember him in two months anyway.  He was forgettable.  He shouldn’t have even come.  He should have been working on the summer collection that Celestino wanted finalized by next week.  Idiot, idiot!  He set his glass down on a random table, probably terrorized some poor hotel employee into un-checking his coat and strode toward the hotel lobby as quickly as he could.  He burst onto the street with labored breaths, praying that he could find a taxi, or a bus, or _something_ before he couldn’t keep the panic from its vice-grip on his lungs.

He saw the black Packard, silver-haired chauffer and all, and he got in.

“Mr. Katsuki!” Viktor said in surprise, then suavely, “Need a ride?”

“Take me somewhere that isn’t here,” Yuuri choked, breathy and effeminate.  Viktor didn’t reply, surely repulsed by Yuuri’s hysterics, but he pulled into the street and began heading toward the Oak Street Beach.  The ride was quiet for a long time.  Yuuri retreated into his coat like a hermit crab into its shell.  He tried to watch the passing skyline, to guess where Viktor was taking him, but it made him too nervous, so he stared at his shoes.  He was in the car for a long time.  He hadn’t checked his watch since before the party started, and he didn’t check it now.  He was starting to calm down, if the surge of overwhelming apathy was anything to go by.

Finally the car stopped.

“Home?” Yuuri asked.  His brow furrowed.

“I took long way.  You look like you need to be alone, but not alone.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.  Oh, shit,” Yuuri moved his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose.  “Yakov is going to kill me.”

Viktor laughed.  It made Yuuri jump.  “Yakov likes you too much.  He will kill me instead.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

Grinning Viktor replied, “You can always hide me in apartment.  I’ll make you breakfast!”

Yuuri huffed a half-laugh at that.  “You can’t…you can’t live in my apartment, Viktor.  Where would you sleep?”  He regretted the question as soon as it left his mouth.

“With you, of course!”

Yuuri flushed up to his hairline, “Y-You, well, uh, you just.  I—”  He sighed as Viktor blinked at him with expectant eyes.  “I wish you’d let that joke go.”

“Let joke go where?”  He seemed genuinely confused.

“I wish you’d stop joking about being…about being,” he sighed.  “I wish you’d stop joking about being attracted to me.”

“It’s not joke,” Viktor said.  His brows were drawn together, and his lips made the perfect displease pout.  Yuuri had to look down at his shoes again.  “I would take you out right now if I thought were okay.”

Yuuri’s eyes snapped up. “Huh?”

“I don’t know how to comfort people well,” Viktor said, looking almost bashful now.  “I thought I knew, but, well, unimportant.  I don’t know anymore.  You are not well.  You are upset.  I don’t want you upset.  I will wait to take you on date when you are _not_ upset.” He almost looked…nervous.

“I—” Yuuri swallowed.  “I appreciate that.  You have to understand, Viktor.  It’s very difficult to accept that someone like you could want, uh, that.  From someone like me.  I mean—”

“Because I’m a chauffer?”

“Because you’re beautiful.”  When he realized what he’d said, he slapped a hand over his face and mumbled, “God damn it.”

“Yuuri!  This whole time I was scared you not like me!”  Viktor sounded way too excited to be the object of Yuuri’s affections.

“What’s not to like about you,” he muttered.

“Well I didn’t speak English.”

“You speak English now.”

“Hmm.  Not well, yes?”

“Well enough.”

“So, I can take you on date?”

“No.”  Yuuri almost laughed when Viktor’s face dropped.  “I’m taking _you_ on a date.”

“When?  Where?  Can Yakov come?  Oh, no, not be date if he come. What will I wear?  Are we eating?”

“Viktor,” Yuuri laughed, “I can’t tell you.  It’s a surprise.”  To be honest, it was going to be a surprise for Yuuri too, since he had no idea where he was going to take Viktor, but the excitement was contagious.

Viktor grinned.  “I love surprises.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come visit me on my writing twitter [here](https://twitter.com/bastetwrites?lang=en)  
> Or my tumblr [here](https://bastetcg.tumblr.com)
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments and subscriptions are always welcome!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to post this yesterday but I got caught up in costume stuff D: I'll be posting the final chapter on the 25th (hint hint) Also, thank you SOOO much for all the comments on the last chapter!!! I was kind of surprised by how many there were!! zi'll get around to responding I promise!!

Yuuri opened the door, somewhat caught off guard by the sight of Viktor out of uniform.  Sure, he knew Viktor was handsome, but out of uniform he was just unfair.  His black slacks, which replaced his usual green jodhpurs, made his long legs look longer; his shirt, wide-collared and tight across the shoulders, should have been unflattering, but Yuuri felt his eyes darting to and from the straining top button to anywhere else, back to that button.  Yuuri wanted to dress him so many different ways.  Not that Yuuri knew anything about men’s fashion, but he’d spent so much time convincing himself that Viktor was unattainable that now he knew Viktor was obtainable, wanted Yuuri back, Yuuri’s imagination…It had been torture waiting for Tuesday to roll around.  And now he was making a fool of himself.  He’d been too busy watching Viktor’s shoulders to count the stairs and almost fell flat on his face on the way to the car.

“Oh, are you driving this time?” Viktor asked.

“It would be rude to make you drive.  Considering.”

“Very kind of you.”  Once Viktor was in the car, Yuuri raced around to the other side.  They slipped out of the apartment’s garage and into the street.  Yuuri wanted to talk.  He wanted to be interesting, and for a moment his anxiety crept up behind his eyeballs, telling him that if he wasn’t entertaining and fun during the car ride, Viktor would back out as soon as they got to the restaurant.  Luckily, Viktor started talking.

“I told Yakov all about our date, and he said I’m idiot for forcing you to take me out!  I laughed.  Told him you offered!  He got very red.  He is still sore about last weekend when I left him at Drake.  He wasn’t even waiting long!  Made big fuss about ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes for Yakov is worth a lot of money, you know,” Yuuri said under a soft smile.  “Though, I can’t say I’m too regretful about stealing you away for a little bit.”

“Yuuri!” Viktor laughed.  Yuuri felt Viktor lean into him, and suddenly the road became something of a distraction from the heat of Viktor’s thigh pressing into his.  When had he gotten so close?

“Green,” Viktor said, much too close to Yuuri’s ear.  Yuuri glanced up at the light, and sure enough, it was green.

“Right!”  The car lurched forward as Yuuri tapped the gas a little too hard.

“Wow!” Viktor laughed.  “Maybe I should driven after all!”

“You’re distracting me,” Yuuri shot back, bright red.  Viktor laughed again but didn’t try and get any closer.  He talked instead, about Yakov, about France, about his cousin.  Yuuri turned down a few side streets, listening to him chatter.  It was actually very nice, Yuuri thought to himself.  He couldn’t over think when he was listening to Viktor describe the time his cousin got so incensed when Yakov made them all pose for a photo a few years before the war.  Or about the time he chased a dog through the back alleys of Leningrad and almost got arrested.  Yuuri noticed that he didn’t mention anything about the war itself.  Steered very clear of that, actually.  Eventually, they arrived at a very empty street where Yuuri parallel parked.  He let Viktor out of the car. Viktor blinked in the light of the setting sun, trying to figure out where they were.

“We’re just outside Humbolt Park,” Yuuri helped clarify.  “There’s uh, there’s a bakery around here, but I’ve never gone in.  I, Well, I couldn’t read the menu, or understand the workers the last time I went, so I never went back.”  He motioned to a storefront a few yards to their right.

Viktor gasped and pressed himself up against the glass.  “Blini!  Karina!” He turned back to Yuuri with wide glassy eyes.  “Russian bakery?”

“This is a pretty Russian part of town,” Yuuri shrugged.  “I figured you might like something that reminded you of home.  W-we don’t have to eat here.”

“Yuuri,” Viktor said with so much emotion, “This is perfect.  I am happy.”

“Why do you sound like you’re about to cry then?”

Viktor laughed, but it was tight.  “It’s—” he sighed.  “It is long time since I have been home.  I will probably never go home.”

Yuuri took his hand and stared at the various pastries and breads with him.

“I’m hungry, Yuuri.  Buy me belyashi?”

“I don’t know what that is.  But I’ll buy you whatever you like.”

“I’ll buy you whatever you like, too,” Viktor said as he squeezed Yuuri’s hand.  “You will like blini.  With jam!”  He began speaking in fragments of Russian mixed with English words.  Yuuri laughed and tugged him towards the door.

“I’ll try whatever you pick out for me, Viktor.”  He opened the door, the warm scent of bread and cooked meat spilling over them.

Viktor, smile so wide his eyes closed, said, “ _Dobryy vecher_!” as the bell on the door jingled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! Hope everyone has had a lovely day! Here is the conclusion to this ridiculous, but very fun AU!

The first time Viktor met Yuuri, it was like the first time he'd seen the Eiffel tower in France.  It was so tall and beautiful with its shiny gold lattice work and gentle curves.  Yuuri glowed just the same way.

At first Viktor was confused.  This beautiful man was not Yakov, yet he was rushing into the car like he owned it.  Viktor thought to stay and wait; after all, perhaps this was one of Yakov's many business partners.  But the way the man in the car flicked his arm to glance at his wrist told Viktor that this man would not take kindly to waiting.  So, Viktor got in the front seat and drove off.  It was a chance to bask in this man's presence.  He was glad the man wanted to go somewhere Viktor had been before.  Yakov had made sure he had the most important street names and their locations memorized before he'd agreed to let Viktor inside the car.  The most curious thing about the journey was at the end.  The man said something to him, something about six, or maybe it was four?  Whatever he'd said, Viktor didn't understand it.  He raised his hand when the man tried to pay him, and with a charming smile said one of the only English phrases he knew.

"No charge!"

He knew something wasn't quite right.  As Viktor pulled off the curb, he wondered if it was typical to pay after a personal chauffer had driven someone.  He quickly realized he didn't care and began to wonder if he'd ever have the opportunity to meet the beautiful man again.  He lived in the same apartment complex as Yakov, so it was likely.  He smiled to himself.

~

He met the beautiful man again much sooner than expected.

Yakov had been furious.  He'd yelled Viktor's ear off then dragged him up to the reception area to yell at the receptionist.  About five minutes into Yakov's upbraiding, the beautiful man walked through the glass doors.  He was wet from the drizzle outside.

"Oh, that's him," Viktor nudged Yakov.

"Katsuki!" Yakov then began his crusade anew at a very surprised, soggy Mr. Katsuki.

There was a bit of conversation between them, Mr. Katuski holding up under Yakov's aggression better than Viktor would have ever thought possible, given Katsuki's unassuming appearance.  Mr. Katsuki caught Viktor staring and gave him a small, confused smile.  Viktor grinned back.

"Apprently," Yakov growled, "Mr. Kastuki and I have the same make and model car, which means the only reason I was late to my meeting with the Guang Hong family is because you didn't stop him!"

"I can't speak English, Yakov," Viktor reminded him.

"You didn't have to drive him anywhere!  He's a smart man!  He would have figured it out!"

Viktor laughed.  "Well, can I help it if a charming face makes me want to bend over backwards?"

"In your case it'd be forwards, you tart!"

Viktor laughed again.  "Well, Yakov, if you have no more use for me, I'll be heading back to my dungeon."  He kissed Yakov's cheek then flipped his driver's cap to slide snuggly over Yakov's bald spot.  As he passed Mr. Katsuki on his way out the doors, he snuck a glance.  Mr. Katsuki had the biggest, most expressive eyes Viktor had ever seen, and his flat nose was adorable.  Viktor smiled to himself as he turned the corner and took the stairs down to the garage.

~

The third time they met, Yakov was taking Yuuri to lunch.  Rather, Yakov was having Viktor drive their party to lunch.  Viktor might have been a tad over enthusiastic, but he liked the way Mr. Katsuki's eyebrows quirked up, making him look even more adorably flustered than usual.  Yakov had told him all about Mr. Katsuki following the Merchant Market fiasco, and every new fact made him fall a little bit more in love with Mr. Katsuki.

He was a fashion designer-slash-brand owner.  Viktor had never had a head for business, so he wasn't really sure what a "brand owner" was.  Fsahion designer sounded nice though.  Very whimsical.  Viktor liked whimsical things.  Mr. Katsuki had a rather modest-sized apartment two floors below Yakov's.  Viktor might have "miscounted" the flights of stairs to Yakov's apartment a few times to see if Mr. Katsuki was out on the landings.  Mr. Katsuki was a quiet, nervous man who kept to himself.  Viktor wasn't sure how Yakov knew this, considering Yakov had not mentioned being personable with Mr. Katsuki, but it made sense.  Viktor had noticed Mr. Katsuki sneaking glances in the rear-view mirror, like he was curious about Viktor but didn't want Viktor to know that.  Mr. Katsuki had little regard for social class, Yakov had said with much gruffness.  Apparently, Mr. Katsuki was very fond of Mr. Chulonont, one of the apartment's general chauffeurs, even going so far as to refer to Mr. Chulonont as a "friend."  Viktor wished he could speak English, so he could ask Phichit what the nature of his relationship with Mr. Katsuki really was.

Now, Viktor knew this wasn't real love.  It was the passing infatuation he had with all things beautiful.  Like the Effiel Tower.  And ice skates.  and Christophe.  Once they became commonplace things, or a commonplace person in this instance, they'd carve out a little place for themselves in his heart and he'd look back at the memory of the feelings and feel again when he felt feeling-less.

The point was this: Viktor loved annoying Yakov.  It was practically his favorite past time, especially now that his job mainly involved sitting around in a garage with other chauffeurs, waiting for Yakov to need him.  So, he played up the infatuation, sighing heavily at each mention of Mr. Katsuki's name, draping himself over ever surface of Yakov's apartment when he was infrequently allowed up, telling Yakov he couldn't come to work that day because he was "love sick" (Yakov stomped down to Viktor's little first floor apartment and almost strangled him for that one).  But then when he saw Mr. Katuski again, it felt like maybe he hadn't played it up.

One of the clauses in Viktor's contract stated that Viktor was to be provided lunch if he worked through noon.  Yakov, for all his blustering about Mr. Katsuki's social graces, let Viktor sit with them in a very nice restaurant Viktor could not read the name of.  Lilia translated the menu for him while Katsuki and Yakov chatted.  Viktor ordered the eggplant because that was the only option he'd heard.  He was very busy watching Mr. Katuski's lips as he spoke.  He felt somewhat left out, since the conversation was in English, but occasionally, Lilia would ask his opinion on one of Mr. Katsuki's sketches.

"How do you feel about this neckline?"

"It's very nice.  It will flatter your shoulders."

"This looks a little too young for me, don't you think?"

"Youth is a state of mind," he purred.  She raised an eyebrow at him.  "Yes, it reminds me a bit of something Mila might wear."

"Thoughts on this color?"

"You can't go wrong with garnet."

Throughout all of this he ate his eggplant and tried to get a glimpse of Mr. Katsuki's eyes through the glare reflecting off his glasses.

Yakov paid for the meal, at which Mr. Katsuki looked extremely uncomfortable, and they made their way back to the apartment, Lilia's new dress design finalized.

Viktor hopped out of the car to let Mr. Katsuki out.  He didn't want Mr. Katsuki to leave if he was perfectly honest.  But he knew it would mortify Yakov if he just locked the car doors and kept driving, forcing them all to spend another hour driving about the city.  The solution was simple.  He took Mr. Katsuki's hand in his and asked in his most charming voice, "Lunch with me?  Tuesday?"

He hoped that was coherent.  Now that he thought about it, lunch would probably be a frustrating, silent affair if it were to actually happen, but no matter!  The request was out in the open now.

Mr. Katsuki looked uncomfortable, but Viktor was starting to realize he was always uncomfortable.  He said "Sorry," so Viktor knew Mr. Katsuki was rejecting the offer, but he said a few more things that Viktor didn't understand.  When he asked Yakov later what Yuuri had said, Yakov pursed his lips.

"He's doing us all a favor and pretending that your embarrassing behavior was a joke.  He said it was very funny but he is a very busy man."

"A joke?"

"I told you, he's private.  Probably doesn't take kindly to strange illiterate chauffeurs asking him on dates."

"I'm literate in seven languages, thank you very much!" Viktor sniffed.

"Not English."

"...not English," Viktor agreed sadly.

~

The fourth time they meet, Viktor is a little embarrassed.  It's been two weeks since he had seen Mr. Katsuki for an extended period, which was awful because it had been two weekss since he'd seen Mr. Katsuki, but also a blessing, because Viktor was much more confident in his English skills.  Mr. Katsuki had come down to the garage to chat with Phichit about getting his car's oil changed.  He stopped mid-sentence when he noticed Viktor staring.

"Viktor, come on," Leo nudged him.  "You gotta finish the page at least."

Viktor blinked and glanced back down at the reading primer in his lap.  Leo, another of the apartment's chauffeurs had been kind enough to let Viktor borrow his little sister's primers to help him learn to read.  Some of the other chauffeurs made fun of him for it, until Leo had mentioned what Viktor had done in the war.  That shut them up pretty quickly.

Regardless, Yuuri's eyes darted between Viktor and the primer, then back to Viktor.  Viktor felt his face heating up.  He wasn't stupid.  He wasn't.  But he was a grown man borrowing a seven-year-old's reading primer.

"Uh, here.  Thanks, Leo."  He tossed the book back into Leo's lap.

"Viktor?"

"Mr. Katsuki!"  Mr. Katsuki's eye grew wider as Viktor approached.  "Phichit, if I interrupt, it’s alright?"

"Yeah, that’s fine.  We were just about done anyway.  I'll get the oil changed on Tuesday, is that alright?"

"Uh, fine," Mr. Katsuki said, but he was still staring at Viktor.  Phichit raised a few fingers in farewell and jogged off.

"It's been a while," said Viktor.

"You can...speak much better I see.  I was unconvinced when Yakov said you'd be conversational by December."

"Ah, well," Viktor ducked his head.  He had a general understanding of what Mr. Katsuki was saying, but the word "unconvinced" wasn't familiar to him.  "I ask you earlier, but I don't think you understand.  Or maybe I am not understand.  I want to take lunch."

"I beg your pardon?"  There was that adorably flustered expression again.  Viktor grinned.

"I want to take lunch.  You are very handsome, and I want to know you."

"To _get_ to know me?" it was a correction and question all in one.

"Is this phrase in English?  Phrases are not so good for me."

"I-I, uh, well."

"It is not joke," Viktor assured him.

“I think!” Yuuri said very loudly, glancing at all the other chauffeurs behind Viktor, “most lunch breaks are an hour.”

“Lunch break?” Viktor cocked his head to the side, confused.

“And I don’t take lunch until two, so it probably wouldn’t work out.”

Viktor understood the word “two,” which he liked, coming from Yuuri’s mouth.  They could be two, together.  A couple.  But he was still confused. Was Yuuri rejecting him again?

“If you’ll excuse me.” He pulled his hand from Viktor’s and scurried out of the garage.

“You’re trying to court Katsuki?” Leo asked.  He blew out a long breath of air.  “He’s skittish, man.  Plus, he’s so high above us, class wise.”

“Ah, Leo!  Yuuri doesn’t care about class!” Phichit laughed.  “If you’re trying to court Yuuri, you need to be subtler.  He’s not one for dramatic proclamations of love unless he’s the one making them.”

“Court?  What is court?”

“Ah,” Phichit scratched his cheek.  “When you want to make them fall in love with you?  When you take them on dates?”

“What is subtle?”

“You _wouldn’t_ know that word,” Leo mumbled under his breath.

“You need to be quieter,” Phichit said with a small grin.  “Yuuri’s got a lot of insecurities.  Thinks he’s less than he really is, that he needs to prove himself every minute of every day.”

“Getting a little too abstract for him, Phi,” Leo broke in.  Viktor was grateful, since Pihchit was saying an awful lot of words.

“ _Yuuri is insecure, anxious_ ,” Leo said in Spanish.  Viktor nodded, more comfortable in something closer to Italian.  “ _It’s necessary that you…if you’re less…If you’re more delicate._ ”

“ _Why is he anxious?_ ” Viktor asked.

Leo shrugged.  “ _I don’t know him well.  Ask him_ ,” he jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Phichit.

“Uhh,” Viktor wracked his brain.  Was Phichit Korean?  Or Vietnamese?  He couldn’t remember.  He didn’t speak _any_ East Asian language, so it hardly mattered.  English would have to work.  “ _Ansioso_ …  Why is Yuuri…”

“Anxious?  Who knows.  I think it’s some kind of neurosis.”

“N-Neurosis?”

“Something wrong in his head,” Leo provided.  Viktor bristled.  There was nothing wrong in Yuuri’s head!  He was perfectly normal, and even if he wasn’t, that wouldn’t matter anyway.

“Just, let him come to you, is all,” Phichit said with a pat to Viktor’s shoulder.

As he walked off, Viktor muttered, “Come to me?”

~

The fifth time they met, Viktor finally understood what Phichit had meant.  Why Yuuri had ended up back in Yakov’s Packard, Viktor wasn’t sure.  One moment, Viktor was picking at his fingernails and waiting for Yakov to need him again, the next moment, Yuuri was throwing himself into the back seat, hair disheveled, and dress shirt untucked.

“Need a ride?”

Yuuri’s eyes screamed yes, but his mouth opened as if to say no.  Viktor knew that look, so it was a surprise when Yuuri said, “Take me anywhere that isn’t here.”

Viktor nodded, more to himself than to Yuuri.  He could do this.  He _could_.  Yuuri looked just like Viktor’s mother on her worse nights, when the fear of death and inconsequentiality stole her breath.  He hoped this was what Yuuri needed.

It took around an hour, but Yuuri finally uncurled in the back of the car, so Viktor headed toward the apartments.

“I took long way,” Viktor said with an easy smile.  Yuuri looked at him like he was an abstract painting.

“Yakov is going to kill me!”

Viktor waved off the concern, flirted a little, not too much, he didn’t want to make Yuuri uncomfortable, especially after his attack.

“I wish you’d let that joke go.”

“Let joke go where?”

Apparently, Yuuri really thought Viktor was teasing him.  Viktor was almost offended.  The idea that he’d make such a mean and long winded joke at the expense of someone as sensitive as Yuuri made him frown.  But soon he was smiling.  Yuuri thought he was beautiful!  Yuuri thought Viktor was perfect!  Yuuri wanted to take him on a date!

They were going to go on a date!  Viktor swallowed around the lump in his throat.  He didn’t want to scare Yuuri away after all.

“I love surprises,” he said, but he meant, ‘I love you.’

~

After their first date, Viktor lost track of the number of times they met.  After the first time Yuuri invited him to spend the night, Viktor stopped taking his clothes back to his room near the garage.  A year later and they might as well have been married.  The thought made Viktor squirm in the living room chair.  It was less opulent than Yakov’s apartment, but Viktor liked it.  What Viktor liked even _more_ was the bookshelf full of knickknacks Viktor had bought for Yuuri, and the samovar Yuuri had ordered to make Viktor feel more at home, and the dog puzzle they’d completed, framed like a painting over the dinner table.  Viktor glanced over the back of his chair to check that the puzzle was still there.

“Vitka?”  Yuuri’s voice came from the bedroom.

“Here, Yuuri!”  He hadn’t moved from where he was when Yuuri had been in the room, but sometimes Yuuri needed that extra reassurance.  “What’s that?”

Yuuri reappeared in the living room, thin box in hand.  He shifted from foot to foot, gently running his fingers over the corners of the box.

“I-It’s your birthday.”

“It is?”

“It’s Christmas.”

“I hadn’t realized.”

“And I know you’re not big on celebrations.”

“Is it a gift for me?”

Yuuri laughed but ducked his head.  “A gift for both of us really.  I’m kind of selfish, I think.”

“Yuuri, you’re not—"

“Here.”  He shoved the box at Viktor.  “I’m,uh, I’ve been talking with the investors, and they wanted…”

“A suit?!  Yuuri, this is so nice!”  Viktor pulled the jacket out of the box and layers of tissue paper.  It was a beautiful silver color, like his hair.  Black buttons, crisp corners, sturdy fabric.  He curled a finger under the lapel.

“We’re expanding!” Yuuri finally choked out.  “The investors want to expand.  I want to use you as the face of our men’s wear line.

Viktor blinked.  “A men’s wear line?”

“Yes.  The investors want to see product before we roll out, so.  I wanted to.  I wanted to ask before I…well.  I made the suit.”

“You made the suit?!”  Viktor gripped the fabric tighter, pulled it closer to his face and began inspecting the seams.  Yuuri rarely made anything.  He’d overseen the designers for a few years, and between that and his responsibilities as co-president of the company, he hadn’t actually done much creating in years.  At least that’s how he’d explained it to Viktor early on in their relationship.  There were certain clients that requested him personally, like Lilia or Ketty, but he stressed that he usually had no hand in drafting or sewing anything, just designing.

“I.  Uh, yeah.  I made it.  Remember when I took your measurements last year?”

“No.”

Yuuri gaped for a second.  “I took your measurements when you came to see me at work the first time.  When you had to wear the protective smock?”

“Huh.  I vaguely recall it.”

Yuuri chuckled and ran a hand through his hair.  “Well.  I hope you haven’t gained any weight.  Or lost it!  Not saying you’re getting fat!  If anything, I’m the one getting fat, with all the food I’ve been eating, and I haven’t ever been one for exercise—”

Viktor stood, suit jacket still in hand.  He hugged Yuuri as tightly as he could.  “I love it Yuuri.  I love that I’ll get to wear something that you made!  I want everyone to know I’m yours!  This is wonderful!”

Yuuri relaxed in Viktor’s hold and let out a shaky breath as he returned the hug.

“But you know I would have gladly worn one of your dresses or blouses,” Viktor said, grinning into Yuuri’s ear.

Laughing, Yuuri said, “I don’t think the world is ready for Viktor Nikiforov in a dress.”

“But are you?”

“Hmm.  It might be too much clothing for my tastes.”  Viktor let Yuuri tuck a finger under his chin and inspect Viktor’s face.  It sent a little thrill through Viktor’s body when Yuuri got bold like this.

“Happy birthday to me!” he giggled.  Yuuri broke into a laugh as well.

“You didn’t even remember it was your birthday!”

“Should I get into this suit, so you can take me out of it?”

“Ah, no,” Yuuri said seriously.  “That needs to stay nice for the photoshoot next week.  What you’re wearing now is good.  But, uh, I made dinner reservations.”

“Maybe after dinner then?”

“We’re going to a ballet,” Yuuri said sheepishly.

“Wow!  Yuuri!  You’re spoiled me!”

“Spoiling,” Yuuri corrected with a kiss to Viktor’s nose.  “And I can’t help spoiling you when you spoil me right back.  Come on.  I’m driving.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who follows me in general, I have a quick gift to write for a friend, but I'll be hopping back on Fondue and Drag Race International soon I promise!!! Thank you so much for reading!!!
> 
> Some notes:  
> Illinois didn’t require driver’s licenses until 1953, which means Viktor would not have had to pass any kind of test in order to be a chauffeur  
> Viktor speaks three languages fluently: Russian (first language), Yiddish (from his mother), and French (which he learned in school). Yiddish has some Polish root words and similarities to the language but is actually closer in grammar to German; Viktor has fairly advanced conversational skills in Polish, German, Italian, Spanish, and Czech, but he is not fluent in these languages, and sometimes gets them confused (especially Spanish and Italian). He knows enough Hungarian and Greek to hold a conversation. By the end of the story he is fluent in English.  
> The battle of Stalingrad, in which Viktor's father died, was one of the bloodiest of WWII. if Soviet soldiers attempted to retreat, they were shot by their own commanders. It was an integral battle and helped turned the tide of the war, but the losses were astronomical. Viktor's father was killed by friendly fire.  
> All the places I've mentioned save Yuuri and Yakov's apartment building and the Russian bakery are real places that were in Chicago in 1947. I've only been to Chicago once, so there may be innaccuracies in direction or the time it takes to get from one to place to another. :(( Sorry

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on my writing twitter [here](https://twitter.com/bastetwrites?lang=en)  
> Or my tumblr [here](https://bastetcg.tumblr.com)


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